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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354169">funny face</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant'>allsovacant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A nod to Pennywise, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Gore, Clowns, Halloween, M/M, Not Beta Read, Paranormal, Post-Season 4, Scary Clowns, With a creepy children’s song, a tiny teeny bit of sweet stuff, yep I changed the lyrics too</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A/N: This story is a dark version of and loosely based on a children’s story I read when I was a child.  I was sure it was meant to change the children’s view about clowns. But we all know that’s really not easy to achieve. The title of the children’s story was ”Funny Face”, minus my very own gore.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Spooky Johnlock Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>funny face</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he was five years old, John stood at the same spot where a moving circus group used to frequent the place waiting for his parents to return.</p><p>The only difference is that there is another person with him and that he was no longer alone with the nightmare unlike when he was younger. </p><p>Sherlock is with him. But Sherlock is there, lying on the pavement, unconscious and bleeding too much. </p><p>John knew it wouldn't take long until his best friend breathes his last. He couldn't allow that to happen.</p><p>Before he could get near Sherlock, a disembodied voice broke the silence of the night. The voice echoed all over John like it was in his head.</p><p>
  <em>“Red, dark red, crimson. What shade of red is the blood?”</em>
</p><p>The voice asked John. John looked around him hoping to find its source. Even though he already knew who it was or rather whom it comes from.</p><p>But he couldn't forget the very first time the owner of that voice asked him.</p><p>One night when John was accidentally left alone by his family in the parade. A man dressed in funny clothes and wearing a party hat that hardly tamed his Auburn curls approached John asking the same question. He was only five years old. John answered he didn't know. But John, feeling a bit proud that he didn’t get scared by a question about blood, added that one day he will become an army doctor and he will know the answer then. And that John will tell the man his answer when he comes back from his deployment. </p><p>The man only looked at him, plucked a red balloon out of thin air like magic, gave it to him and then told him with the widest smile on his face that he will be waiting for John and then, the man quietly walked away with a grin on his face. John even thought the man has the whitest teeth he had ever seen. If he ever thought that that grin was a sinister one, he never knew at that time.</p><p>But what John couldn’t comprehend that night was how the tall slender man with a party hat, dressed in funny clothes managed to vanish in thin air. He forgot all about it when his parents came running, fussing over him, giving him gifts as they took him home. He never saw the man with the wide smile again. </p><p>
  <em><br/>
•••••••••••<br/>
<br/>
"Crimson," </em>
</p><p>John thought as his mind mocked a laugh while he watched the thick puddle of blood flow from Sherlock's head then made its way to the rough pavement. </p><p>He stood still as Sherlock's chest slowed while John's heart rapidly beat. He knew Sherlock was dying. Blood loss is immediate when your head is almost ripped from your neck. Whoever caused that injury isn't human. </p><p>John swallowed the lump forming in his throat, he needed to do something. But what? When he couldn't even make out what was happening? But Sherlock is important. Sherlock matters. </p><p>Just as he was about to go to Sherlock, a movement from his left corner had him pause.</p><p>"Quite right, John."</p><p>John slowly turned to where the voice came from. </p><p>"Hello, Johnny boy. Did you miss me?"</p><p>Now that same figure is dressed in the same funny clothes he wore that night when John first met him. With his face still painted white, John couldn't tell if he aged or not. Coal black eyes stared hungrily at him. His mouth that John thought was always smiling was colored in that same dark red paint, stretching wide up to his ears. Back then John thought it was funny.</p><p>A sickening crunch snapped John out of his thoughts and that's where he noticed the figure was now crouched on the pavement over Sherlock. Its head hanging in between its legs. Then all of a sudden, a black gooey liquid oozed from the figure’s lips and began crawling over Sherlock’s body. All of it happened in a blur of speed. In rapid succession, the black liquid vanished so as Sherlock’s body. The figure changed in front of John literally. All of its bones crunching, and with a final stretch, the figure stood on wobbly legs once more until what was left of it isn’t who it was before at all.</p><p>
  <em>What the hell—?</em>
</p><p>There, left standing was Sherlock—no, not Sherlock. Because this Sherlock looked... <em>clinically dead. </em></p><p>Sherlock’s eyelids are open to show the sclera of his eyes. His lips are purplish to black. His pale skin almost gray under the light of the lamppost. Dark red blood oozed on the side of Sherlock’s ears and lips and temple. There was a smell of rotten flesh in the air and John tried so hard not to gag and leave himself vulnerable. </p><p>But what John made him cover his mouth is the wound on Sherlock’s temple. It was a gunshot wound. And there on Sherlock’s hand in John’s gun.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No. It can’t be.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>John’s knees buckled as it lost its strength. He closed his eyes as tears formed behind them. No. His mind is just playing tricks on him. This isn’t real.</p><p> </p><p>“What have you done, John?”</p><p> </p><p>John’s eyes snap open at the accusing tone of Sherlock’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>“W-What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You killed me, John Watson.”</p><p> </p><p>And then John watched in horror as Sherlock placed the gun once again against his temple.</p><p> </p><p>“I loved you. And you killed— me.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No. No.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“S-Sherlock, no,” John whispered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What is happening? What is this? What kind of nightmare is this? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“My death is in your bloody red hands.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>No. No. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>John dived over Sherlock’s hand grabbing his gun. </p><p> </p><p>”NO!”</p><p> </p><p>A single gunshot rang over the street as a searing pain bloomed over John’s chest. He tasted the blood as it spurted out of his mouth as he collapsed dragging Sherlock’s still body with him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I killed us. I killed Sherlock. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>”JOHN!”</b>
</p><p>
  <em><br/>
•••••••••••</em>
</p><p>John’s eyes squinted at the blurry face in front of him. Slowly it focused to reveal the ever stormy-grey of Sherlock’s eyes. Very much alive. An otter and a hedgehog stuffed toy resting over his legs. Then John felt the warmth of two hands soothing against the sweat-damped fabric of his sleeves. </p><p> </p><p>”You fell asleep. You had a dream,”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A dream… Oh fuck. </em>
</p><p><em><br/>
</em>John remembered then. The missing children’s case, the filing of evidences, them taking a break. Which brings John to the root of his own nightmare. They are at the Frightweek theme park where isolated cases of missing children are filed about. The Merry-Go-Round, the shooting arena, the Ferris wheel. After calling Mrs. Hudson to check on Rosie, he said his goodbyes as he was tired and went to the rental to rest. And their friends are around somewhere. John took a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>”More like a nightmare, ” He said to Sherlock, his voice sounding rough as if he screamed all night.</p><p> </p><p>He turned his head around him, shivering at the thought of what his subconscious mind could conjure. Should he see a therapist again?</p><p>Should he tell Sherlock? It does concern Sherlock—or not. But still, he could—</p><p> </p><p>”You uh... subconsciously said some things…” Sherlock said interrupting John’s train of thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>”Hmm?” He looked at Sherlock who was now looking outside the window of the rental. </p><p> </p><p>”You said…”</p><p> </p><p>”What did I say, Sherlock?”</p><p> </p><p>”Yousaidyouloveme…”</p><p> </p><p>John’s eyes narrowed, before grinning. Not that Sherlock could see him. Oh. He did say that out loud. Skeleton’s out of the closet then? But nothing could hurt in pretending he hadn’t heard Sherlock, right? John’s grin widens. Expect Sherlock to make him feel alright.</p><p> </p><p>”I didn’t quite catch that, come again?” He asked playfully.</p><p> </p><p>John heard Sherlock released a heavy before turning to face him.</p><p> </p><p>”I said—YOU said—you—oomf!”</p><p> </p><p>Perfect. John could get used to this. Two of them in a car, alone, hidden from the noisiest theme park—plush soft lips, murmuring sweet nothings and an ”I love you too…”, so alive, warm, and not—the end thought made John still and eventually he leaned away.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock moaned softly, chasing John’s lips. His pupils dilated looking thoroughly debauched. He was so beautiful. And John ached from a phantom of a nightmare that he wished he could just forget. Erase from the depths of his mind.</p><p> </p><p>”What’s wrong, John?” Sherlock asked him, worry evident all over his face.</p><p> </p><p>Bloody hell. Why should he ruin the moment with his dreams? It was just a dream. He shouldn’t watch scary movies anymore. He should just focus with Sherlock. With that set as his goal, John gave Sherlock a reassuring and hopefully confident smile.</p><p> </p><p>He was about to dismiss Sherlock’s worries when a knock sounded behind Sherlock’s window. Without asking who it was, Sherlock opened the door. John couldn’t see who it was but he didn’t have to, Sherlock went back inside the car holding something that made the blood drain from John's face.</p><p> </p><p>It was a <em>red balloon.</em></p><p> </p><p>Sherlock was still talking about John, not mentioning having a friend that works in the circus.</p><p> </p><p>”—His face looks so ridiculous, he said you thought of him that way too,”</p><p> </p><p>John’s heart thundered.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“He said you called him funny, and he said that he’ll see you again. Because you still haven't got the right answer to his question. What was the question John?”</p><p> </p><p>And as if the balloon wasn’t proof enough that his nightmare has become reality, a voice in his head answered Sherlock’s question, only this time, it was a new one: </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“What shade of red is your blood, Johnny? I can’t wait to taste the answer. But I need to have something of yours so I could return. And you have it, John. You have my answer. Bye for now.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Amidst the chaos and laughter coming from the theme park, John only heard the sound of a children song being sang and the eerie laughter that followed it as it faded into the night.</p><p>
  <em>Ring around your Rosie,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A pocket full of posies</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ashes, ashes,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We all float down</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We all float down</em>
</p><p>John breathed the one word he made out of the song.</p><p>
  <b>”Rosie,”</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried contributing for a Halloween fic. Thank you for reading and for not killing me on comments. ^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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